


In the first place

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Risingverse - Telemachus
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What scares Thirthurun the most isn't that he did it. It's that, if he could do it again, he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the first place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



> If you haven't read telemachus's stuff, you should probably do that, because it's amazing and also otherwise this might not make much sense. 
> 
> She has graciously allowed me to borrow her OCs, and this is fanfic of her fanfic.

I find him crying one night, two weeks after. 

"'Awar?" I pick my way across the room he never could keep neat to sit beside my older — oldest, now, and oh Elbereth that hurts to think about — brother. "'Awar, tell me what's wrong."

I know what's wrong. Of course I know. I am many things, but I am not stupid. But I also know my brother, and if he talks about it himself he'll feel better. 

"It's my fault."

Thorodwar's looking down, not at me, but I can still see how blank his eyes are. 

Is he fading?

"It isn't your fault," I say automatically. 

Please Elbereth please Manwë please Yavanna please Eru Ilúvatar, don't let him fade. 

He ignores me. "It's my fault Thalion died, because I was there and I could have saved him and I didn't. It's my fault Naneth sailed West, it's my fault Edair's so cold now, it's my fault —"

I don't let him finish. "It isn't your fault, none of it's your fault," and he's not buying that for a second, he never really does when I speak before thinking, "it's not your fault Naneth sailed, you didn't drive her off," and the sound that leaves his throat is so vulnerable that I can't help but hold him close. 

Thorodwar leans in closer still. Contact like this is — unusual, for elves, but I do not mind. We are unusual, for elves. In this at least. 

"No. It is, Thir. It's my fault, I know it is, don't lie to me, I'm not as smart as you are but I'm not a child." He isn't crying anymore, but his voice is still thick. 

For all his years, Thorodwar still lives in a very simplistic world. A world where Thalion died not because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time but because someone made the mistake that killed him; a world where Naneth sailed not because the luck of the draw decreed that her fourth child was a son not a daughter but because somebody drove her off. A world where horrible things only happen for good reasons. 

If horrible things only happened for good reasons, they wouldn't happen at all. 

"It's not your fault Naneth had to sail," I say, because that's a fight I can win. It could be seen as a concession of the rest, but Thorodwar won't think of it that way. 

Who do I blame? Not Edair, he's suffered enough. Someone, or Thorodwar won't believe it, just think I'm making empty promises and close off entirely.   
(and probably die of grief and guilt)  
(no don't think about that, you're no use to him if you're grieving too for the brother you haven't even lost yet)

"It isn't your fault," I repeat, "it's the new one's. Legolas's."

I shouldn't say that, because it isn't. It isn't Legolas's fault, any more than it's Thorodwar's. 

But — that's the tradeoff. My younger brother's wellbeing for my older brother's. And it's an exchange I'm willing to make. 

Thorodwar comes first. Always. 

 

 

 

"Please," Legolas says, holding out his comb. It is a simple thing, made of polished wood. He is a prince of this realm as much as we are; he should have better. "Please, you are my brothers, you are all I have — you know Ada does not comb —"

"And whose fault do you think that is?" Thorodwar's tone is mocking and cruel, and all I can think is, What have I done?

I don't think, not really, I just follow my older (est) brother's cues

until the sound of a slap jolts me back to reality. 

Thorodwar hit our brother.

Legolas looks up at us with wide green eyes, so hurt, so young. Younger than my daughter, even. He backs away slowly and turns and runs, like he's scared that if he stays I'll hit him too. 

I created this. 

It's my fault. 

It's all my fault. 

"It isn't, Thir," my older brother says, and I realise I've spoken aloud. "It isn't your fault. It's his."

"Legolas's fault," I echo. Even to my own ears it sounds dull. I have an elfling of my own, how can I be so cruel?

How could I have made this trade? A monster for Thorodwar? A monster for myself?

I know how. Of course I know. I am many things, but I am not stupid. I got that from our father, if nothing else. 

He reaches out, tilts my chin very slightly upwards so I have to meet his eyes. "It's Legolas's fault," he tells me. "Not yours, Thir. Never yours."

I am well aware that it is a lie. 

But — it is a lie I have told so many times — I find I can believe it anyway. 

 

 

 

I take his hands to stop them from shaking and say "Legolas's fault," and Thorodwar intertwines our fingers and holds on tight and believes me with all his heart. It is all I can say; it is all he can do. 

He splays his hand in the space between my shoulderblades and wraps an arm around my shoulders and says "Legolas's fault," and I curl my fingers in his hair and cling to him even as I cling to the lie. It is all he can say; it is all I can do. 

I'm so sorry.  
But I would do it again if I had to.  
Thorodwar comes first. Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song Your Fault, from the musical Into the Woods.


End file.
